A Mind of His Own
by Joanne Kathleen Rowling
Summary: After his godfather's death, Harry Potter just wants people to leave him alone, but the more he wants isolation, the more attention he gets until the one time he can't take it any longer.
1. Avada Kedavra

**Chapter 1**

The long, murky corridor seemed endless like the sharp pain of a freshly cut wound. The night seemed darker than others, and the icy stonewalls guided her throughout the castle. She sped around the corner away from the moonlit rays that exposed her bouncing brown curls and redden eyes, incessantly glancing behind her and wiping away the tears that poured down her cheeks. Her robes were torn, and dirt covered her entire body. Scratches tore through the side of her face, and she could feel the warm blood against her chilled skin. Turning down an isolated third-floor corridor, she hid behind the statue of the one-eyed witch.

As she tried taming her irregular heavy breathing, a shadowed creature stopped short in front of the statue. She could feel her heart pounding nervously as she backed in deeper until she felt her back hit against the wall, and prayed he wouldn't hear her. Clenching her wand, she stared menacingly at the blackened beast, and considered the possibilities of curses she could produce upon him. The darkened fiend began to slowly slink out of site as she caught her breath that puffed out in tiny vapours in front of her. Slowly peering passed the statue, she squinted to see through the thick blackness of night. Since her eyes failed her, she trusted her sense of sound to assure her no one lingered around. When she felt it was safe, she crept silently back to the seventh floor.

Making her way as quickly as possible back to Gryffindor Tower, Hermione Granger searched frightfully all around her for anything to jump out in the dead of night. The shadows of the stoned figures and knights' armour only heightened her fear. It seemed as if their eyes were set upon her, and to her dismay, she couldn't distinguish between what was real and what was her imagination.

She brought her watch up to her face that revealed it was far from sunrise. Looking back behind her once more, she debated whether to shed some light on her pathway. _I'm not quite there yet,_ she thought. _I don't need anything distracted towards me now. _Hermione turned down one last corridor, relieved to see the Grand Staircase in sight. But suddenly, a sinister voice echoed silently in the shadows behind her.

"Hello, Granger," the voice coolly greeted. Her body froze in place as she tightened her grip around her wand. Hermione felt a tear trickle down her face as he continued to speak. "Tried to slip away, did you? Thought you could fool me?"

Hermione stood in place, not looking back at him.

"Look at me when I'm speaking to you!" he shouted. "_Imperio!" _A sudden jolt streamed throughout her body, and she felt it being forcefully turned around. Hermione stared down at the floor, forbidding her eyes to look straight at him. "I said look at me!" he repeated, and she felt her head jerk up. Even though he was hidden within the shadows, his icy grey eyes glowed, and she found herself staring in a daze into them.

She clenched her teeth in pain while he commanded, "Come here."

Hermione tried prying herself from the grip of the spell, but her body obediently followed his orders. She couldn't scream for help; no one knew where she was. If only she would have listened to Ron, and headed back to the common room, she wouldn't be within the clutches of this horrible person.

Her feet quickly stomped across the stone floor in a beeline towards him until she was so close to his face she could feel the heat of his breath. She continued to stare into his eyes—eyes she knew very well, but hoped to never get this close to. His face showed clearly now. With his slicked back blonde hair, alarming grey eyes, and devious smile, she knew it could only be one person. Draco Malfoy.

"I've waited so patiently for this night, Granger," he informed. He grabbed her wrist tightly, and dragged her down to the dungeons. "I had to hold off until the perfect time when you were alone, and away from Potter and Weasley. It was quite difficult though. You were always around them, _hiding_ between those two. You knew I was watching you…and yet, you still didn't inform your precious friends. How very foolish of you…"

When they reached the back of the eerie dungeons, there stood Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and Theodore Nott, along with a few other Slytherins with smug expressions on their faces. Hermione felt the curse lift from her body, and she immediately began pulling away from Malfoy.

"Let go!" she screamed. "_Depulsio!_"

A flash of gold secreted from her wand, and threw Malfoy against the wall. She scrambled to leave, but Malfoy quickly stood, and shouted, "_Locomotor Mortis!_"

Hermione felt her legs lock together, and she instantly fell to the floor. Sniggers exploded from the others, and Malfoy satisfyingly grinned at them and then down at her. She felt her hands heat up in piercing pain from the fall, and attempted to crawl away, but Malfoy shouted, "_Accio!_"

Hermione hurled backwards, and flew straight towards Malfoy, who grinningly took one step to the side. Her back smashed violently against the wall, and her body fell helplessly to the floor. Her head ached, and she felt her feeble mind begin to slip out of consciousness.

"Granger, you've got to realize that you cannot escape. No one knows where you are…and no one will!" he bellowed. A few more snickers broke out from the Slytherins.

She brought her thoughts together and screamed, "HELP!"

"_Nectoris!_"

Her mouth was instantly bounded, and tears began flowing down her cheeks again. The Slytherins all joined together in an eruption of laughter. Hermione frantically looked around at them who enjoying the pain Malfoy brought upon her. Malfoy's laughs sharply ended, and Hermione feared the next words that came from his mouth.

"This is for you, father," he contributed gravely. "_Avada Kedavra!_"

A bright green light shot out of his wand, blinding the sight of the room, and a shrill laugh echoed off the walls of the vacant dungeon.


	2. Ron's Attack

Ch. 2 Ron's Attack 

"Hermione!" shouted Harry as he sat straight up in his bed. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face, and his breath paced at an irregular rate. He searched around his room, making sure everything was in its place. His trunk leaned against his dresser with bits of clothing fed through the opening. Hedwig's cage sat empty on the top of his dresser. She was outside for the time being. Hedwig was only allowed out a certain amount of time to stretch her wings, because of Voldemort's return and he didn't want anything to happen to her. He wasn't allowed to write many letters to his best friends, because Hermione was afraid a Death Eater would intercept them.

Harry rubbed his scar stinging in pain. He was much used to this by now, but the dream he had was something new. He wondered why he would have a dream as horrible as that to happen to Hermione. Did he want that actually happening to her?

Pulling off the coverlet of his bed, Harry tiptoed over to his window, and gazed outside at the midnight sky. Not a cloud covered the black sky, and the stars twinkled eccentrically in a way Harry rather thought was annoying. He wasn't in much a charming mood those days. With having everyone just believing him about Voldemort's return, and losing the only one who he was closest to, he found himself willingly locked up in his room and lying on his bed day in and day out. He only left his room late at night when he didn't have to deal with his relatives, and he could do as he pleases—as long as it were the appropriate noise level.

Seeing no sight of Hedwig, he returned back to his bed, and collapsed on to it with a sigh. _Time goes to slow,_ he thought. All he wanted was to be with his friends—the people he needed the most at the time. However, to his displeasing, he found his Aunt Petunia barging in throughout the day making sure he was still breathing, and then leaving harshly with the door slamming behind her. By her grave frowns and short grunts, it seemed like she wanted him dead. It wasn't much to his surprise. His entire life, the Durselys' thought of Harry as being a burden placed upon their lives; having to take care of him, feeding him, and just living within the same block as him brought despair to them. But Harry was just as miserable. If it were his choice, he'd be at 12 Grimmauld Place with people just like him.

Harry creaked open his door, and poked out his head to hear if his relatives were asleep. After hearing the assuring snores coming from his cousin Dudley's room and the constant mumbling in his aunt and uncle's room, he snuck down the stairs to the kitchen.

The extravagant full moon shined through the drapery, illuminating his pathway. As he pulled out the leftover chocolate cake from Dudley's birthday, he thought back to a time Ron stuffed his mouth with his chocolate cake after a win in Quidditch. His face was covered in chocolate frosting, and crumbs were stuck between his teeth. Harry could remember Ron's chocolaty smile quite clearly, and slightly sniggered at the image.

Closing the door of the refrigerator, Harry gazed outside at the moon. He knew Professor Lupin was morphed in to a werewolf at the time being, and began to wonder what he was doing. As he ate his late-night snack, he walked around the room and looked around through the moon lit house. He looked down at the corner of the foyer, noticing an indent in the wall, and remembering a time when he was six. Dudley as usual was giving Harry a cousinly beating, and pushed Harry in to the wall. His elbow slightly broke through the wall, and straight away Dudley snitched on him to Aunt Petunia. That cost an evening without food, and the rest of the day in the cupboard under the stairs. He didn't mind the cupboard too much. He had gotten quite used to it after the first five years of his life. He used to think of it as small fort.

Harry turned his head away from the foyer as he heard a sharp noise outside. It sounded like those poppers Dudley and his mates always threw at him whenever he minded his own business outside in the garden—which used to be always. He walked over to the doors that led out to the portico. Squinting his eyes, he hoped it was someone from the Order to come get him, but it wasn't—just one of the mysterious noises that was only heard in the dead of night. He turned back around as he finished up his slice of cake, and began walking to the sink. He didn't notice the darkened figure gliding up to the window behind him, but he heard a light tap on the glass that forced him to quickly turn back around.

Harry frantically searched around the glass that separated him and the outside, but he couldn't see anything—or thing didn't want to be seen. A light fog against the glass began to grow as Harry crept closer to it. He reached his hand out to the glass, and felt that the fog was forming on the other side. Harry bent closer in examination. His nose was so close; the glass could've come alive and bit him if it wanted to. But, there was nothing out there. Harry was about to forget about it until he heard smudging sounds against the glass. Words began to appear in the fogged area, and Harry began to sound it out.

"L-oo-k. Be-h-ind. Y-ou," he worded. "Look behind you?" Harry turned around, wondering, _What's that supposed to mean?_

Harry looked around behind him confused, not knowing what to do. Was it a Death Eater—or a Dementor? As he turned back around, he jumped in his skin as he saw a cloaked Death Eater standing eye-to-eye with him and Ron was in its clutches.

"Ron!" Harry shouted quietly. Harry looked up at the cloaked fiend, and he felt it grinning at him. Pulling out his wand, the creature began to back up in to the night.

Harry pulled out his wand, and reached for the lock of the door. As he began to push the door open, a loud _CRACK_ erupted behind Harry and then another that forced him to pull back from the door. The Ron's petrified face disappeared immediately, and he now had a sort of malevolence expression flashing at Harry. Before Harry could turn around and see who was behind him, one pulled him backwards to the ground, and the other seemed to be shouting at the Death Eater.

"If you want him, come inside and get him!" shouted a softer sounding voice. Harry looked up at the glass doors, and saw the Death Eater and Ron outside sweep away in to the dead of night.

"Harry, what do you think you were doing?" asked a harsher sounding voice that laid on top him. The bloke pulled Harry up to his feet, and Harry once realised it was Mad-eye Moody, and Nymphadora Tonks stood by the doorway.

"Don't tell me you actually thought that was Ron?" Tonks asked. She looked different from the last time Harry seen her. Besides her sombre facial look, she had straight black hair hanging passed her elbows, her eyes were now a violet colour, and her face looked younger and had soft texture to it. Small-accessorised spectacles lied at the end of her short upturned nose. Harry continually looked back at them and didn't know exactly what to say. What were they doing here?

"Well speak, boy!" Moody grumbled. "This behaviour is outrageous! CONSTANT VILAGENCE!"

"Yes, Alastor, we know. Now, Harry, why did you open that door to two Death Eaters?"

"_Two Death Eaters?_" Harry blurted. He quickly turned his head towards the ceiling at the sound of rustling on the second floor, but brought his attention back as soon as the noise died away. "That wasn't Ron?"

"You don't think a Death Eater knows how to shape shift in to someone else?" Tonks asked suspiciously, wondering if Harry had fallen on his head over the holiday. "They have many ploys towards tricking someone. They knew you're mates with Weasley, and so they used him against you to pull you in to their clutches."

"Yeah, but I thought I was safe within the walls of the Dursleys' house?"

"Did you not just attempt to unlock this door, and walk outside?"

Harry hadn't realised what actions he did. He was more concerned about Ron and his safety.

"Kids these days. Full of ignorance," Moody grumbled. "CONSTANT VILAGENCE!"

"Alastor! We understand! Constant vilagence, yes!" Tonks shouted. Harry heard another sound above his head, and hoped his family hadn't woken up.

"Could you two be quieter?" Harry hissed. "I'd rather not have the Durselys' come down and see you two in their house."

"Yes, very well, Harry," Tonks agreed. "We have to be going anyway. Do you have your things packed?"

"No, I didn't know you were coming—"

"We were already here," Moody interrupted.

"Do you think we'd let you be by yourself with these people and Death Eaters being able to manipulate you like this?" Tonks asked.

"I was not manipulated!" Harry shouted, not caring if his uncle would hear him.

"Argue at will, Harry, but we have got to get going. Now lets get upstairs, and get your things packed."

Tonks left immediately, and walked up the stairs to his room. Before Harry could even walk in to his room, Tonks had already flicked everything in his trunk.

"Is that everything?" she asked.

Harry nodded his head, and grabbed Hedwig's cage. He knew she'd figure out where he was so he didn't bother looking for her out the window.

As Harry and Tonks began to walk down the steps, the hall light flicked on and at the other end stood a rather purple Uncle Vernon.

"WHAT'S GOING ON?" he shouted demandingly.

"I'm just leaving," Harry responded with a bit of pleasing tone in it.

"WHAT ARE THEY DOING HERE?" Harry was positive his uncle couldn't get anymore purple, but he was wrong.

"Helping me leave." Harry turned back around, and made his way down to the first floor. Tonks sent Uncle Vernon a peculiar, and followed behind Harry.

"GREAT!" he screamed. "GET OUT OF THIS HOUSE!"

Harry heard his uncle's door slam shut, and a wild snort from Dudley's bedroom. He knew Dudley would sleep through an invasion, and rolled his eyes. Down in the kitchen, Harry and Tonks walked in on Moody glaring in disgust at a picture of Dudley grinning widely.

"He's related to you?" he asked, turning away from the picture towards Harry.

"Yeah," Harry answered as he glanced at the picture. Moody made a slight grunt through his nose. To Harry, it sounded almost like a laugh, but he didn't try and ask.

They walked outside and Moody waved his wand at the side of street. Instantly, the lights of a massive purple triple-decker bus blinded Harry. The Knight Bus screeched to a halt in the crisp night. Tonks and Moody constantly searched around them, and pulled Harry aboard, handing Stan Shunpike, the bus conductor, a Galleon.

Harry sat down on one of the vacant cots, and perched himself against the wall as he stared out at the deserted street of Privet Drive. Tonks and Moody were in discussion with Stan Shunpike as Harry felt himself drifting off to sleep. Just as he felt the bus get ready for its departure, a shaggy black dog appeared out of the shrubs and caught Harry's attention. It didn't connect in his until the bus took off, and he then immediately stood upright and yelled, "Sirius!"


	3. Hermione's Dubious Despair

bCh. 3 Hermione's Dubious Despair/b 

"Stop!" Harry shouted. "I saw Sirius!" Harry wasn't aware that he stood up on his feet until the bus took a sharp turn, and he fell to the floor. "Why aren't they stopping?"

"Harry, you didn't see Sirius," Tonks said, pulling him back to his feet. "You only think—"

"DON'T TELL ME I THOUGHT I SAW HIM! I KNOW I SAW HIM!" he shouted, feeling his face heat up. Tonks looked behind her at Moody, who only grumbled and faced the direction of Stan.

Turning around Tonks grabbed Harry's shoulders, backing him up to his seat, and pushed him down to sit. Gazing in to his eyes, she calmly said, "You've got to relax, Harry. I know you miss Sirius—we all do, but he's not coming back. You may have seen a black dog that resembled Sirius, but it wasn't him."

Harry repetitively searched in Tonks's deep violet eyes for meaning towards what she said. He couldn't believe she was saying this. She didn't understand—no one does. She's never lost a parent—let alone two, and now he's lost the one person that felt as much as a parent to him. He wanted to scream all sorts of curses at her and tell her she's wrong, but he knew that wouldn't get him anywhere. Sleep began to overcome him, and she could see it in his eyes. Pulling up the covers over him, she sent him a warm smile and resided back to her seat next to Moody.

Watching the trees and light posts jump out of the way of the Knight Bus and erasing the sinful thoughts that brewed in his mind, Harry slowly slumped out of reality and in to his horrid dreams once more.

The sounds of screaming sirens outside the bedroom window forced Harry to open his eyes and experience the blinding of the noon sun radiating through the window on to Harry's bed. Rubbing his eyes, he pulled the covers off him and slowly made his way to the window. As he peered down at the busy street of London, he noticed Muggles hurrying quickly past each other to conclude their hectic schedules.

Harry turned around to a room he found quite familiar. Hedwig's cage stood perched on the top of a wardrobe next to Pigwidgeon's. Ron's trunk sat in front of a neatly made bed, and Harry's was in front of the one he just woke up out of with his Firebolt perched against the corner of the bedside table and wall.

After pulling out a new set of clothes from his trunk and getting dressed, he walked out in to the hall that achingly brought memories back to him. Every place he looked at made him think about Sirius. He was about to forget about going downstairs and instead find a room to please his longing for isolation, but voices coming from the door to his left erased his current thoughts completely. Leaning in closer to hear who was talking, he breathed slowly as the conversation on the other side of the door continued.

"We've got to tell him," said a girlish voice.

"What do you mean 'we'?" asked the other boyish sounding voice. "You're the one he listens to, why can't you tell him?"

Harry was rather interested in what these two familiar voices had to say, and moved closer to the door.

"Ron, right now Harry needs I_both of us/I_ to be with him. He's much more vulnerable now that Sirius…"

"You mention him around Harry and he won't want to be around us at all, Hermione."

"Yes, I know!" she unnoticeably shouted. "We just need to be there for him! Be there for him like he would be there for either of us in our time of need!" Harry heard her begin to sob.

"Hermione, it's okay," Ron comforted.

"No, it's not okay! Nothing is okay, and nothing will be okay!" she cried. Harry couldn't see her, but he could tell by the tone of her voice something troubled her more than Harry himself.

He looked down at the cracks in the floor, and heard Ron ask, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Hermione sniffed. "Lets go see if Harry awake."

Harry heard footsteps walking towards the door and immediately stood upright, searching around the hall and debating whether to pretend to walk out another room or hurry down to the stairs. Unfortunately, before he could decide, the door swung open and there stood Ron and Hermione with a shocking expression upon their faces. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was too caught up in the blotchy redness around Hermione's tear-coated eyes.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and wrapping Harry up in a massive hug. "Ron and I missed you so much!" She began to slightly sob again as she gripped her arms tighter around Harry.

"Hermione," Ron began, noticing Harry's face faintly pale, "I don't think Harry can breathe."

Hermione immediately let go, and forced a smile on her face as she backed up next to Ron. Harry eyed her and Ron, noticing the new features they acquired over the summer holiday. Ron grew at least two more inches, and his hair grew out a little shaggier. He wore his usual dark tan trousers and a sweater he received from Mrs. Weasley from either Christmas or his birthday. Harry's eyes moved over to Hermione continued to rub away the tears from her eyes and smile broadly at him. She seemed to grow some too since the last time he seen her. She wore a pair of jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. Her hair was unsurprisingly bushy and brown as always. But there was something about her that he found different. He couldn't figure it out, and he didn't know whether she was forcing that smile or she really was thrilled at the time.

"Hermione, are you all right?" he finally asked.

"Yes, Harry. I'm okay," she answered, glancing over at Ron. "A few emotions mixing all in to one."

"What were you two talking about in there?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but turned to Ron, expecting him to answer for her. Though seeing he couldn't figure out anything to say, she responded, "We'll tell you later, Harry. Lets get down to the sitting room. Everyone's been waiting for you to wake up."

She quickly walked passed him, pulling his arm with Ron following behind him. Why were they avoiding the topic? And what really did bother Hermione? Questions like this filled Harry's head as Hermione continued to pull him down the stairs and occasionally looking back and smiling at him. He noticed the redness around her eyes diminish as they reached the first floor.

Walking in to the sitting room, the entire room brought their eyes to Harry, and everyone's fretful expressions immediately turned content. He knew they were putting a show on for him. Why did they have to pretend?

As Harry sat down next to Mrs. Weasley, Hermione and Ron robotically followed his moves and sat next to him. No one spoke a word until Mrs. Weasley broke the silence.

"How are you feeling, dear?" she asked, taking a sip of her tea.

"I'm fine, thank you," he responded. He didn't know what else to say. Why should he tell everyone how he feels when no one was likely to believe what he says or they'd try to fluff up his sorrow with comfort hugs and kisses. Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and Ron enveloped him on the couch as Tonks and Ginny sat across from them, and Fred sat in a chair to his left, and George to his right—or was it the other way around?

No one spoke; no one had anything to really say. Though it would be nice to have someone break the awkward silence, everyone hoped it would've been someone else rather than Shacklebolt.

"Didn't Sirius use some sort of stick to smack Kreacher with when he was bored?" he asked, walking in the room unaware of Harry's presence. "Do any of you know where that would be?" At the sound of Sirius's name, Harry immediately tensed up. "Oh, sorry. Hello, Harry. Didn't see you there. How we feeling then?"


	4. An Unfriendly Row

Ch. 4 An Unfriendly Row 

Harry couldn't believe the moment that happened, and now Shacklebolt's asking how he felt? He wasn't going to stand for it. He stood up abruptly, stormed down the hallway and back up the stairs to a remote room in the flat. He screamed in his head for no one to follow him, but straight away he heard footsteps behind him. The first door he encountered—whether appealing or not—he opened and stepped through, slamming it shut behind him.

Leaning his back against the door, Harry took in a deep breath, and before he could exhale the door gave him a quick shove forward and back again—Hermione had attempted to open the door.

"Harry? Harry, are you all right?" she asked.

"That's a bit of a stupid question, don't you think?" he heard Ron say.

"Please, let us in, Harry," pleaded Hermione. "We want to talk to you."

"Well, I don't want to talk to any of you!" Harry shouted. There was a short pause, and the next thing he heard were footsteps fading down the hall. He took another deep breath and looked around the room. A limited amount of light shone through the dark plum bedding that hung over the window, and a dust-covered bed aligned against the far side of the room. There was a small desk next to it with a pile of disorganised papers scattered on top. A few framed photos lied on a side table—this was Sirius's room.

Harry crossed the grimy room and gazed down at the photos with a fuming look upon his face—there was one of his parents, Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew when they attended Hogwarts. They stared grinning blithely up at Harry in their school robes; it looked as if they were in their sixth or seventh year. He watched his dad peer over at his mum devilishly and saw Sirius smack the back of his dad's head. Lupin and his dad would also peer over at Pettigrew now and then—this didn't amuse Harry one bit. He grabbed the picture and was about to throw it across the room at the wall to help him feel better, but stopped. Instead, he looked down at the picture again, took it out of its frame, and folded it up in to his pocket.

He walked over to the cluttered desk and began thumbing through the papers. There were papers from dates as far back before Harry was even born and some not too long ago. Letters sent from Harry himself and letters from Lupin—even little notes that he wrote to Sirius when they were still in school; some looked like notes Sirius, Lupin, and his dad wrote back and forth to each other. A particular letter caught Harry's attention—Professor Dumbledore wrote it. Harry read:

It's not wise to inform Harry of these things you wish to tell him. There are some things that must be spoken of, and some he will have to find out on his own. Never fear, though. Harry's found out a great deal on his own, I have no doubt he'll unravel this one as well. I advise you, however, do not mention anything towards it to him. I will speak again to you shortly. Keep well hidden—

The sounds of people out side the room in the hallway caused Harry to look over by the door, and no sooner did Ron—followed by Hermione—walked in the room. Closing the door behind her, Hermione glanced around the room, feeling its sinister atmosphere. Ron just looked ahead at Harry, who placed the papers back down and surveyed the two in expectation for them to speak up.

"What are you doing in here?" asked Hermione.

"What's it to you?" asked Harry gruffly, setting the letter back down on the desk.

"We want to help you, Harry. If there's something you want to talk about, we'll be right here listening to every word you have to say," she said calmly.

"Maybe I don't want your help!" Harry shouted.

"Harry, we're just worried—" said Hermione.

"Why don't you quit worrying so much about me," Harry shouted, breaking Hermione off, "and start worrying about yourselves! You're the ones who will need to hide when the time comes, I can't. I have to battle Voldemort! My fate is written in stone—not yours. So before you presume I want help, help yourself, because you need it more than I do."

Hermione's eyes began to coat in a teary glaze. Walking towards them, Harry pushed passed them to open the door and exit the room. He purposely bumped his shoulder in to Ron's and walked out the door. It took Ron a second before he comprehended what just happened, and when his realisations came forth, he stepped out of the room and turned Harry around by his shoulder.

"What is your problem?" asked Ron, perturbed. "Don't you think Hermione has thought about her life? She's doing everything she can for herself, and she _still_ wants to help you!"

Through hand movements, Harry retorted, "I DON'T NEED HELP! If she's thoroughly thought about her life, she should help her parents! Obviously she doesn't care—" Harry stopped himself once he realised what he was just about to say.

Hermione's jaw dropped, and silent tears began to fill her eyes. Her face turned light pink as she swallowed her pride in a hard swallow. She and Ron both knew what he was about to say. Ron quickly turned to Hermione's solemn face—he knew she was holding in her feelings to her best ability. He turned back around to Harry, who began walking away down the narrow hallway. Ron's face immediately turned bright red as he ran up behind Harry and leapt on him, both of them falling to the floor.

"Ron, stop it!" Hermione cried, but realising neither of them would listen to her, she ran down the stairs to bring back help.

Without much room, Harry unleashed himself from Ron and sprung to his feet, glaring irately towards Ron. Before he had time to react, Ron had pinned him in to the wall, bumping a picture off the wall and crashing to the ground. Ron shouted back, "You have no idea what Hermione would do for her parents! She would do bloody _anything_ for them, along with my help!" Harry pushed Ron off him, still glaring.

"You don't think I would help, too?" Harry asked loudly.

Ron looked fiercely back him with a surly frown upon his face and pointed toward the stairs. "Did you know her parents were supposed to be staying here with us? They were supposed to come right before you, but you know what happened? Bloody unlikely…"

"What happened then? You're so anxious to tell me!" Harry bellowed, slowly moving sideways away from the wall.

"Her parents are dead, you git!" Ron remarked as Harry's face went blank. Did Ron just actually say that or was it his imagination? Surely he didn't mean it. "You couldn't see where I was going with that? Are you sure your scar is intact? Didn't see it happening through V-Voldemort's eyes? Not wearing out on you now, is it?"

"W-what did you say?" Harry asked.

"You heard me," responded Ron, closely following Harry's moves. "That's what she wanted to talk to you about—the reason you've seen her being so emotional. She didn't want to tell you by letter."

Harry stood speechless for several minutes. Ron's foul glaring slowly turned to peace, and they both turned to the stairs as they heard several footsteps climbing up them. Harry reached inside his pocket and noticed the picture of his parents was gone. Frantically searching the floor, he found it against the wall and bent down to pick it up. Mrs. Weasley, Lupin, Hermione, and Ginny appeared up the stairs, all looking quite uneasy.

"What's going on?" asked Mrs. Weasley. "Hermione told us you two were at each other's throats."

Harry glanced over at Ron, then Hermione, and then Mrs. Weasley, and spoke, "It's nothing. We resolved everything."

A flow of relief seemed to have exhaled from Mrs. Weasley as she said, "Well, come on down stairs. It's almost time for dinner."

Mrs. Weasley and Lupin turned around and walked back down stairs. Hermione and Ginny casually made their way towards Harry and Ron, cautious to whether they had really resolved their differences.

"Is everything okay?" Ginny asked both of them, but more towards Harry. He gave a slight nod, and looked over at Hermione. She wasn't crying, but her eyes were once again reddened and her quick sniffles confirmed what Ron said was true. Glancing over at Ginny, he wondered whether she knew about Hermione's parents or not. It was most certain since she was here the entire time.

After everyone took a few moments to look around at each other, Hermione finally spoke up.

"We should be getting downstairs," she said and turned to the stairs. Harry, Ron, and Ginny followed, but Harry pulled Hermione back by the arm to talk. Ron quickly looked back, but continued down the steps when Hermione nodded towards him. She looked back at Harry and asked, "What is it?"

"I just—I mean—I wanted to tell you—I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to say anything cruel towards…your parents." Hermione looked down at the floor. Harry watched a tear roll down her cheek. "I'm so sorry about your parents, Hermione—"

"Don't think too much in to it, Harry," she interrupted. "I'll be okay…really."

"I'm going to find whoever caused you such pain, and personally make them pay for what they did to you—or die trying—"

Hermione's quickly tight hug caused Harry to break his sentence, and he wrapped his arms around her, repaying the hug. She silently wept in his shoulder as Harry stood there, allowing her to let her feelings flow. After a few minutes, Hermione pulled back, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Thanks," she whispered. "We should be getting downstairs." She turned and made her way down the steps, leaving Harry in the gloomy hallway anyone would hate to be alone in.


	5. A Little More of the Puzzle

**Ch. 5 A Little More of the Puzzle **

Dinner was rather quiet that evening. The children didn't speak as much as the adults; however they managed to think of something, and ended up asking Fred and George about Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes. Though Mrs. Weasley wasn't too keen on the subject, she continued her conversation with Tonks as George told them his and Fred's affairs. To what Harry understood, the shop had been going quite well. They had created five new pranks since their leaving of school, and perfected all the ones they made while they were there. Hundreds of witches and wizards had stopped at the shop, and they're gross income had been increasing immensely. Everyone seemed to enjoy the productiveness of the shop — everyone except Mrs. Weasley of course. Any time the twins would mention anything remotely related to pranks, or school, or their shop, she'd glance over at them with a cringe and frown. She knew quite well that she had no say anymore. They were of age and could do as they pleased.

Once everyone had finished their meals, Harry stretched tiresomely. He wasn't used to full meals such as this, and he was falling asleep quickly. After a long, unnoticed yawn, Harry gazed over at Ginny, who seemed troubled about something. He studied her face to see if he could figure it out, and noticed she silently whispered to herself. At times, it seemed as if she was upset with herself. What could be the problem? He turned to Hermione, who was staring over at Ron. Harry knew she hurt inside, but knowing her austerity, he also knew she wouldn't show it in front of everyone.

"I think it's time for bed," Mrs. Weasley suggested as she stood up. "Upstairs everyone. Yes, Fred, I know you don't have to go to bed yet." Fred closed his mouth from responding, and continued conversing with George.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny made their way up to the second floor in silence. While climbing the steps, Harry often heard quiet whispering behind him. He turned around to find Ginny quietly talking to herself.

"Ginny, why do you keep talking to yourself?" Harry asked, not being able to stand not knowing anymore.

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking passed him up at Ron and Hermione.

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" he asked irritated. "You've been talking to yourself since dinner."

"O-oh. Just thinking out loud," she answered. "If you have such a problem with it, just ignore it. Is that so hard?" She pushed passed him, walking down the hall into her room.

Harry looked up at Ron and Hermione, and asked, "Am I missing something? Is there something you know that I don't — not that it'd be surprising."

Ron and Hermione both shook their heads. Hermione walked to the door Ginny just had walked through, and turned around to Harry and Ron.

"Could I have a moment alone with Ron, Harry?" she asked.

A bit shocked, Harry answered, "Sure," and walked into his room across from them. After closing the door, he leaned his ear against it and tried listening to them.

"You didn't have to do that today," he heard Hermione say.

"Yeah, I did. You don't deserve that," said Ron.

"But he didn't know. He didn't understand."

"It still wasn't right," mumbled Ron.

There was a short pause, and Harry wondered what they were doing.

"Well, 'night," Hermione said.

"Goodnight."

The sound of a door closing told Harry to step back and pretend to be busy with something. He rushed over to his trunk and opened it up as Ron opened the door and stepped inside.

Harry knew Ron wouldn't tell him everything being on non-speaking terms, changed in to his pyjamas and crawled in bed. He took off his glasses, placed them on the table next to his bed, and pulled the covers up over his head. Taking in a deep, silent breath, Harry shortly found himself sound asleep before he could respond to the whispered question in the air…

The night's manners could drown out the horrific screams of anyone or anything. The wind howled ferociously, and the rain blew in sideways, pelting a lowly being's cloak-covered face. Steadily he walked through the chilling forest; the tops of the trees vanished into the night's sky and were only visible when lightning was present. With his wand in his hand, the person continued a fixed pace towards a mouldering shack. Shattered windows and mud-coated sidings only increased the nonexistent welcoming.

As his firm gait turned into creeping tiptoe, he gripped tighter around his wand and pushed open the rotten door of the house. The aroma of dirt and grime flooded the room and the ceiling leaked raindrops, unable to distinguish the difference between outside and in. Making his way across the room to another door with only having the flashes of lightning through the windows to light his way, the sounds of mud caked to his shoes squished against the floor with each step. Before opening the door, the mysterious person pulled back his hood, revealing him self as a young boy with incredibly messy and soaked, black hair and piercing emerald-green eyes that occasionally blazed scarlet-orange. A scar resided in the centre of his forehead, and by his grave expression, he knew exactly what he was looking for.

Showing no intent to smile, the boy grabbed the doorknob and pushed hard on the door with his shoulder. The door gave no sign of weakness. He pushed harder on the door, giving a littler more effort into it. A quiet whimper leaked through the cracks of the door. Suddenly, a surprising smile appeared across the boy's face.

"Oh, girl," he said calmly, "it's me. You're friend." The boy pressed his ear against the door, hearing sounds of sobs and feckless crying. "Girl, open the door."

A few moments passed and no apparent movement could be heard on the other side. The boy backed away from the door, and shouted, "_Alohomora!_" There was a quick click sound, and he swung open the door with one hand. Lightning crashed outside and revealed the room to be empty. The boy's eyes glowed fiercely red as his anger rose.

"Where are you, little girl?" his voice coolly asked. Slowly crossing the room, he exclaimed, "_Lumos!_" He continued searching around the room, sounding as calm and welcoming as possible. "Why do you hide from me? I'm your friend. Harry." Shifting his fiendish eyes around the room, he saw a quick glimpse of a bushy brown-haired girl. He shined his wand in the corner of the room next to the window and smiled. "Hello." A gasp escaped the girl's mouth, and she scampered to the other room, pushing open the door to the aloof night.

The boy didn't strain himself to follow her; he knew where she was headed. The rain began to soften and lightning flashed once more before the smile wiped from his face. He swept from the shack and followed her. He knew she was on her way back to the one place she thought was safe…

A loud creak of the floor stirred Harry in his sleep, and interrupted his quite puzzling dream. What was that all about? Realising he was still under the quilt, he slowly pulled it down passed his eyes, making sure whoever was up didn't take note to his awakening. His eyes were already well adjusted to the dim room, and he noticed the person moving about was Ron. Harry reached for his glasses and put them on under the bedding.

Harry listened intently to Ron's movements around the room — what was he doing? There was quick shuffling first to Harry's left and then to his right. Shortly after, there was the sound of a door opening and closing. Harry threw the coverlet off him self, sat up, and peered over at the door. Light from the corridor shone through the break between the door and floor, and shadows danced back and forth around the glow. Sitting up, Harry pulled the covers off him self and crept to the lit-outlined door and listened intently for movement on the other side. The light out side the door flicked off and footsteps began to fade away.

Slightly opening the door to see out into the corridor, Harry watched the back of Ron disappear into the darkness towards the steps. Opening the door a little wider to squeeze himself through, he followed quietly behind, leaving the door ajar. Each step Harry took caused his head to beat faster; he didn't know why this was happening. It was just Ron who he was following — unlike a Death Eater or something similar.

Harry crept to the edge of the hall in anticipation — much like the feeling a person would have reaching the edge of the world in the fifteenth century. What would be waiting for him below? Would he find amity?

The night seemed unusually stormy. Rain pounded on the roof, and he could hear it beating rhythmically against the glass window at the bottom of the stairs; Lightning cracked outside with its followed-up burst of thunder that shook the knickknacks on the wall. Holding himself with his hand against the wall, Harry peered down to the ground floor, unable to see even his hands in front of him except their outline when lightning illuminated through the below window. Pacing each step with his eyes alert for any movement, he reached the ground floor, and childishly stretched and tapped his foot in front of him to confirm it was actually the floor — many times he found himself tripping down the last step at the Dursleys because he had miscounted.

This floor revealed itself to be as dark as the last — what could Ron be possibly doing?

Making his way down the gloomy corridor, Harry inched his way to the front of the house, aware of all his surroundings. A faint glow from the sitting room egged on his curiosity. Go on, a voice inside his head told him, you know you want to see what he's doing. Without hesitation, Harry began creeping toward the entrance of the room. As he reached closer to it, he began hearing voices echoing towards him. His pace slowed immensely, and Harry brought all his attention to the sounds from the other room.

"He's sleeping," a deeper voice said, most likely Ron.

"Good. We don't want him walking in on this, now do we?" stated a softer voice, which Harry presumed to be Hermione. Harry's ears perked at their choice of words.

"He probably would find a way to make this seem not right and rip off our heads." Lightning crashed suddenly, and there was a quick sound of something crashing to the floor.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed silently. "Watch what you're doing! _Reparo!_"

"Sorry…" he whispered back. "It's the bloody storm. We haven't had a storm like this a few wee—"

A sudden silence fell over the room and hallway.

"Sorry…again," Harry heard Ron mumble.

"Don't worry about it," Hermione assured weakly. "Let's just get to this."

"We don't have to do this, Her—"

"Yes, we do!" screamed Hermione just as another crack of lightning sparked. Harry slightly stuck his head around the corner to get a visual of the room and conversation. Candles flickered on a table Ron and Hermione knelt down in front of. Faint lights extracted from the candles danced on the walls, and a large piece of parchment with an assortment of writing accessories lay about on the table. "This is for Harry, and we're going to do this for him!"

Harry could see Hermione wasn't expressing her full feelings. Her eyes glazed with tears that were enhanced by the dim light in the room. Her sombre stare at Ron added as a cover up to how she truly wanted to feel. But Ron never broke; he sent her the same expression back, and she finally gave up through a deep sigh and a look to her knees.

"Fine," she slurred, wiping away the excess tears from her eyes, and began pulling together the decorating utensils. "So I guess you can head off to bed then." Accidentally knocking over a container of glitter, Hermione quietly cursed under her breath. She then noticed Ron still dwelled in the room, and insolently posed, "Well are you going to go or not?"

Watching Ron stumble over what he wanted to say, Harry sat himself down on the floor and continued listening.

"I-I don't want to leave you here—" a roar of thunder cut him off for a moment, "—by yourself."

"Ron, I'm perfectly capable to be in a room by myself," she assured sharply, and turned to a distressed Ron. "But thanks for the offer." She stood up with the parchment and writing utensils in her arms and began walking straight towards Harry—Ron narrowing his eyes at her.

Harry's eyes grew wide, and quickly stood up, running quickly down the corridor to the stairs. The last thing he heard was, "Hermione, wait—" and another explosion of thunder covered the rest. But what came afterwards was so terrifying—so chilling—it nearly forced Harry to jump out of his skin, stopping him in his tracks at the scream behind him.


End file.
